I'm Not Okay (Frerard)
by Errxr
Summary: I was determined. Determined to see his eyes sparkle and glisten in the sunlight. Happily.
1. Chapter 1

In the crowded streets of this slightly larger than most towns I hadn't expecting him to stand out.  
Even if his hair was such a bright red it couldn't be missed. I had assumed it was dyed, since There was no way hair could naturally be that outrageously bright shade. he was shorter than most of the strangers encircling him. His shoulders slouched too, so I couldn't get a good estimation of his height. His head was lowered, clearly only for the fact he could dodge the glances from the few odd people took the time to notice him. His head was high enough though, that I could see his features, placed expertly onto his face in their proper spots.  
He was pale. White as a sheet wouls never describe it. He was whiter than snow, and if possible whiter. He was like a cloud, the wind blowimg him around others with precision, making no mistake. Bags were under his eyes, purple and black. The storm clouds blowing in from the lack of sleep, indicting he might fight an battle that no one could really see unless you took the time. Maybe he stayed up late toying with the idea of ending his precious life. Maybe the noose was already hanging from his ceiling and he was heading there now. Maybe a gun, a blade, was stowed safely in his pocket, the fabric concealing it from vision. Allowing the possibly of getting help to be almost as slim as his small frame. Or maybe he's simply an insomniac, or an internet addict or something. I shook the thoughts from my head, yet I still chewed on my lower lip nervously while one question repeated itself in my head. Was he okay?  
His eyes face downward. They're a hazel colour, the specks of golden in his irises making them more beautiful. Keeping with the metaphor of the sky, I would say this, his wonderful eyes, are the sun. Covered by the clouds, they wait to shine down on the Earth again. I didn't know if he wanted them to be bright again. They were so dull, lifeless. If he wasn't moving, walking, breathing, I would've thought he was dead. I didn't know- I didn't care. All I knew is that I wanted them to be bright. I wanted the see them sparkle and glisten in the sunlight. I wanted to remove the storm clouds, those bags under his eyes, so I could see the happiness inside him that I know, deep down inside, is a small, flickering fire waiting for the fuel to keep growing. To grow. To burn happily, it's cracking and popping and snapping the sound of his laughter chimming through the air.  
He stopped walking. I could feel my heartbeat pick up inside my chest when his eyes landed upon me. Even if he stood a few meters away, I wondered if he could hear the sound of it beating eratically against my chest, threatening to escape through the skin. But my heart wasn't selfish. It stayed there, beating, to keep me alive and never left me to have it's freedom.  
He didn't seem to move. I don't think the time we spent standing there, staring at each other, did he once blink. I don't think he even breathed, although his body demanded it. I was no different- My breath seemed to hitch every now and then and I struggled to get the oxygen needed to live in or out. I could never pinpoint what exactly about him took was so breathtaking that I couldn't well, breathe, but as I licked my lips to speak and opened my mouth to say something, and when no words came out, not even a mess of random words that will probably never be used in any form of sentence together, I knew he had left me speechless aswell.  
"No," That simple, two letter word escaped through his lips to break the silence that had fallen over us. At first it confused me. He knew that, and had given me time to process it before he had continued speaking. My eyes widen inside their sockets as I pieced it together. Maybe this stranger, this beautiful kind stranger, was indeed suicidal. I didn't know to what extent his suicide thoughts go, or even if he was in some state of depression, I didn't care. "I'm not okay." No, I didn't care. I wanted to help him. No matter how hard it got, how big the struggle, if a man could climb mount Everest and get out of it alive then he can beat his suicidal thoughts. I was determined. Determined to see his eyes sparkle and glisten in the sunlight. _Happily._


	2. Chapter 2

His words hung in the air. Concern washed over me in a large wave and my expression held one of worry. At this point, I still hadn't found any words to speak. My mouth moved, but no sound vibrated through the air to reach his ears or even my own. I closed my mouth realizing I looked dumb, and we just held eye contact for the longest while. I was unable to read his eyes, or sense any emotions from his body language or expression. Although his face held no expression, it was as blank as his eyes. He was a mystery. A big mystery. Such a big mystery, that in fact, I was intrigued. I want to know him. Learn all his secrets, whether they were deep and dark, like he had murdered someone, or something foolish like being scared of the dark.

He looked down while he fiddled with his hands. I think a light blush dusted across his pale cheeks, but I couldn't be certain. Was he nervous? There was nothing to be nervous about. I'm only Frank Iero, that weird, apparently emo guy who can't stick up for himself and supposedly cuts himself in hopes one day he'll just drop dead. Maybe they only saw me like that because that's what they wanted me to do. It's who they want to be. So maybe then, bullying me would seem slightly logical to them and the majority of the earth's population. I don't get it though. Emos have their problems, they don't need more problems from selfish bastards who thinks it's funny to push them around.

I had eventually mustered up enough courage to walk over to him. When I stopped in front of him I really had no idea what to do. I'm not one to be social with my friends, let alone with a stranger who had just randomly announced he was not okay for everyone to hear, but it seems, standing in front of him, that I was the only person close to him who chose to listen and help. Maybe others heard. There was a huge possibility someone next to him had heard, but they never listened. They were too selfish. That's all the human race is, selfish people fighting to be noticed. Breaking down others for their own dumb needs. I was glad I had stopped, happy I had listened. Because maybe, I was hoping, that I could save his life and brighten his eyes.

I lifted my head and eventually I found my palm gently pressed against his shoulder, my fingers curling gently around it. He jumps from the contact, obviously not expecting it. He looks up at me after, his eyes wide. The size of them told me he was surprised, and shocked, and scared. But the emotions never once flickered across his hazel eyes. He becomes tense under my touch, almost as if he couldn't pull away. But he could, we both knew that. It only took a second to flinch away, and another to lift my hand away, or slap it off his shoulder. But he doesn't. Instead he froze in place, staring up at me, looking me in the eyes. The silence, although comfortable, was rather unbearable for me. I needed to talk to him. Maybe if I could get him to speak I could learn about him, I could help him get better. I swallowed, licked my lips, and hoped, prayed even, that my vocal cords would probably function.

"What's your name?" I asked. He continued to stare, making no movement or sign he was going to answer. He blinked a few times in a row, before he had reached up and took a piece of my hair into his pale fingers. He watched it as it slipped from his grasp, falling back to it's spot. By now I was beyond confused. Was this guy even sane? I resist the urge to bite my lip. Maybe this guy beyond my help and I was talking to some psychopath. He sighs, closing his eyes. I watched him curiously as the wind blew, gently rustling his clothes although they hugged his small figure as if it was so they could live. His hair blew around too, making his bed head look more disheveled than it really was. Yet, as he opened his eyes again, he was still as beautiful as he was a few moments ago.

"Names are like labels," He told me. The sudden sound of him talking surprised me and it was my turn to jump. "The label that is stuck on me is Gerard. Gerard Way." He looked up to the sky as he finished his sentence. His tone went from strong to soft, sounding uninterested towards the end. Maybe the clouds blowing across the long stretch of sky was more interesting than holding a conversation with me, but for me this captured my interest. He had spoke a weird way, almost as if he looked at everything with a different perspective than the whole entire world. But I guess, no matter how weird it was, it held some sort of truth. I wanted him to keep speaking. I needed, no matter how awkward it got, I needed to keep this conversation going.

"I'm Frank, Frank Iero." I said. He glances down at me, his eyes holding some sort of curiousity in them. It was faint, but I had seen it. But he blinked, and just like that, it was blank, his eyes were blank. Painting emotions onto this canvas wouldn't be easy, I knew that, but I wanted to try. That's all that mattered. My determination to help him. But I still had to ask myself: Did he share the same determination?

"I never asked for your name." He chuckles dryly, although not even a small smile graced his lips. I never understood why he found his statement funny, but making he chuckled sarcastically. At the time I never knew, never cared. He was still talking to me, and I felt the urge to be grateful for that. He seemed to be someone like me who stays coped up in a room all day to cut off communication with the outside world, only sometimes going out because the same walls in the same room every single day could seem pretty suffocating. I rarely spoke to anyone. So if he was like me, this, a conversation, would be a miracle. Pigs must've flown because I, Frank Iero, was talking to a complete stranger who looked ridiculous but beautiful.

"I uh... Uhm, I..." Pull yourself together Frank, jesus. Don't scare him off with your pointless stuttering. There's a reason you don't have a girlfriend. "Gerard, I want to help you." And that's when it happened. I got the first smile from him. It was small, barely noticeable, but it was there. I was proud of myself. He was smiling. But he was smiling sadly. Sadness overtook his features and finally I realized maybe I shouldn't have felt proud. Maybe I said something wrong. Maybe he meant 'I'm not okay' in another context if that was even possible.

"Of course you do."


End file.
